


A Question of Freedom

by ScrivenerSavannah



Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Discussions of slavery, Gen, Slavery, crossposted from tumblr, post-Mattimeo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 10:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrivenerSavannah/pseuds/ScrivenerSavannah
Summary: Freedom is harder to accept than it has any right to be. A late-night conversation with someone who knows what you’ve been through can help.





	A Question of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> One of the earlier pieces of fic I wrote for the fandom, originally posted to my main tumblr, later archived to my Mossflower specific tumblr. Recently recorded a podfic version, also posted to ao3. Unbeta-ed. I plan to start cross-posting the one-shots I have on my tumblr, for ease of navigation.

Though the days still held the heat of late summer, they were slowly shortening as the night winds brought the first chills down from the north. The old Virginia creeper over the southern wall of Redwall Abbey had long since caught the fire of autumn, the orange and flame-bright red a sharp contrast to the dusky rose of the sandstones. Within the walls, the orchards lay sheltered, their trees laden with apples, damsons, pears, and bright leaves. Harvest would begin soon, as the industrious creatures who called the Abbey home reaped their rightful reward. 

At the moment, however, those same industrious creatures were taking their well-deserved rest, secure in the knowledge that those who had been lost and those who had travelled far had returned home safe and sound, and that peace and safety were once again the order of the day. The windows were dark, even the most restless having blown out their candles and put aside their occupations for the morrow. The only illumination came from the crescent moon and the myriad of stars above.

The stillness was broken by a near-silent scrape of metal on stone. One of the dormitory windows opened, inch by careful inch, until a young squirrel was able to slide herself through the gap. She scrambled down the old stone without trouble, and set off across the lawn. She was a ragged looking creature, thin and hollow cheeked, with worn patches throughout her dusty brown fur. Once out of the building, though, she couldn’t seem to decide where to go, and wandered aimlessly--first towards the main gate, then over towards the orchard and the strawberry patch, then the flower gardens. As she rounded the corner of the building, though, she froze and darted back. 

A mouse was sitting on the shore of the abbey pond, leaning back on his paws with his face pointing at the sky. Simply clad in the green habit and brown sandals of the order, he looked perfectly serene as he gazed at the moon, but the squirrelmaid knew that if she had been seen, she would be sent straight back to bed. Nobeast was meant to be up and about at this late hour, as the twin bells had long since tolled midnight. As he hadn’t said anything, though, perhaps she had gone unnoticed--

“Come sit with me, young one,” a voice called across the night, too soft to disturb the stillness. 

The squirrelmaid cursed quietly under her breath, but slunk out from behind the wall, crossing obediently to crouch next to the mouse. Her ears were back and she glared at the ground, braced for another lecture about rules. 

Sensing her thoughts, the mouse chuckled. “I’m not going to lecture you or send you back to bed,” he said, good humor lacing his words. “You fought hard for the sky. I wouldn’t dream of taking it from you.” 

The squirrelmaid shot the mouse a sharp, searching look, but she settled to sit with him on the edge of the pond, tilting her head up to look at the moon as well. The autumn night was clear and crisp, and the stars were scattered across the velvety dark blue with the carelessness of a spray of water droplets. She looked back down quickly, blinking tears from her eyes at the sheer immensity. To distract herself, she returned her attention to her companion, only to find him watching her with a sad understanding in his eyes, though a small smile still played about his whiskers. She recognized him, now--the one who had brought them all north, who had come for his son and welcomed them all to his family and home, the one called Matthias. 

“It’s Elmkirk, isn’t it?” he said, and she nodded once. She was no more sure what to make of him now than she had been when she’d first met him, shattering the chains with one swing of that magnificent, terrifying sword. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“No,” Elmkirk said shortly, curling her paws into fists. 

He didn’t comment on her rudeness, only nodded and looked back over the pond. “Aye, that’s understandable. It took half a season before I was comfortable bedding down indoors, let alone with a counterpane and mattress and proper pillow.” 

Elmkirk blinked, and shifted, bringing her tail around to comb her claws through it, a child’s nervous habit. “Oh?” 

“Mhm. It helped to have the window open, though with winter coming that might not be the best idea.” 

“It’s too--” Elmkirk paused, not sure why she felt the need to confess her difficulties to Matthias. But there was just something about the mouse that, well… that made her feel safe. Elmkirk had to wonder if this was how she’d felt with her parents, before Slagar. “It’s too quiet. Back in Malkariss, we had to all pile together, because it was so cold in the caves. And we were so tired that it didn’t matter that you had an elbow in your stomach and paws in your face, you just slept. And here…” 

“Here, you’re not too tired to dream,” Matthias said, and sighed. 

Elmkirk gave another short, sharp nod. After several long minutes of silence, she asked, hesitant, “Then were you, too…?”

“Yes.” Quiet, no hesitation, no shame. “Yes, I was, though I was a season or two younger than you when I escaped. I had the sky and the sea I was born next to, though that hardly seemed a blessing at the time.” 

“Did you kill ‘em?” 

Again, that same, unyielding voice. “Yes. And though I lost much in the act, even then I knew I would do it again given the choice. Maybe differently, less recklessly, but I have never regretted slaying the tyrant.” 

Elmkirk narrowed her eyes and shot a glance to the mouse. “But if that’s the case, then why were you so shocked down in the pits?” The mouse tilted his head to one side, confusion clear on his face. “When we killed Malkariss. You didn’t object, but it wasn’t hard to tell you were horrified. But he deserved it!” she burst out suddenly, on her feet. “He did! The Evil One, the disease ridden cur! At _his_ word we were taken from our families, at _his_ word we were beaten, we were starved, we were forced to build--all for _his_ glory, _his_ exultation! We were taken from our plains, from our mountains, from our forests, from our _sky,_ all at his whim! Fuel for the fire of a mad, pointless vision!” She broke off and buried her face in the crook of her arm, hot, angry tears stinging her eyes. 

The mouse had followed her to her feet, standing beside her and listening to her rant with unending patience. “Matthias has been a freebeast all his life,” he said. “He cannot understand the righteous fury of a slave finally given the opportunity to rise up. He saw children stone a living creature to death, and one frail and old at that. Justice though it was, to one who has never been made to feel less than he is, it seemed only like cold blooded murder. Matthias has a good and noble heart, but he has never endured the ignominy of slavery, of the chains, of the lash, of going hungry while you watch your master feast. He knows of the evils of slavery, yes. He is not naive. But he cannot understand _._ Seasons willing, he never will.” 

_“I wish I didn’t!”_

“As does any beast who has endured it,” the mouse said. “But you do understand.” He watched her a moment, as she clenched and unclenched her paws, struggling to bring her emotions back under control. “You are angry,” he said at last, and Elmkirk snorted at the obvious statement. He smiled briefly, grimly. “That’s good. Anger can give a creature drive, determination. But you must focus and temper that anger, or else it will consume you.” 

“How?” Elmkirk snapped. Malkariss was dead, the slave drivers were dead, the city lost beneath stone and rubble and there it would stay. There wasn’t anything to focus her anger upon, and yet she still burned with it. 

“That is the hardest question, and one I cannot answer,” the mouse said. He shrugged. “I know of a hedgehog who had never tilled the earth before being captured by slavers and forced to farm. He kept a garden after he was freed, because he liked the act of it, and that as a freebeast he could choose what to grow, where to grow it, and had the right to keep all his produce. After six seasons in a pirate galley, an otter could never bring herself to see the ocean again, could barely stand streams. But she learned all she could of healing, because she did not wish to see another creature suffer as she had. A dormouse joined a group of travelling minstrels because after a lifetime of sorrow he found a love for bringing joy to others.” 

“How is that angry? Gardening and healing and laughing, that just sounds stupid!” 

“That’s the trick of it. You accept the anger inside you, and you use it to change the world around you. That is what I mean by tempering it.” He folded his paws into his sleeves, watching to see if she understood. 

“What did you do?” It was a challenge, but the mouse didn’t rise to it, only smiled wistfully. 

“It took me seasons to understand. I nearly let the anger consume me, and it was only the grace and guidance of those around me that enabled me to escape that fate. I decided that I would never again see those under my protection be ground under the heel of a tyrant. No more. And I helped to build a family and a home for anyone who would want it. Eventually, I found peace.” He shrugged, and gave Elmkirk a piercing look. “So, Elmkirk. What will you do now, with your understanding and your freedom?” 

It was a challenge of his own. Elmkirk swallowed, and traced patterns with one footpaw in the grass. “I don’t… I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “I mean, I have to stay here.” 

The mouse smiled again, and gestured to the winding dirt path through the orchard. “Come, I want to show you something.” 

The pair walked slowly down the path, no words passing between them. In time, they came out of the orchard and back into the open, crossing the lawn to a small wicker gate set deep into the eastern wall of the building. The mouse nodded towards the gate. “Where is the lock?” 

Nonplussed, Elmkirk shrugged. “On the inside?” 

“Yes, it is. And in the caves, where were they?” 

“On the doors and the chains,” she grumbled, not seeing the point of this questioning. 

The mouse laughed softly. “Cheek,” he said, though not without affection. “But they were on the outside, weren’t they? Where you couldn’t reach them, couldn’t unlock them?” 

“Yes…” 

The mouse shrugged, and crossed to the steps leading to the top of the wall. He sat on one of them, resting his chin in his paws and watching the young squirrel. “Listen to me. You’re angry. That’s as it should be. No beast should endure what you have had to. You hear the elders here tell you you’re safe, that you’ll never know want or cold or abuse again, but you also hear them tell you the rules, assign you chores, lock the gates at night and scold you for misbehavior, and you wonder if you’ve really escaped slavery after all, or if this is only one big trick. Or, if the beasts here don’t turn on you, if you’ll wake and be back in the mines of Malkariss, where the sky is a distant memory and a full belly a hopeless dream.” 

Elmkirk stood rooted to the spot. It was as if the mouse was speaking her most secret thoughts, things she hadn’t even let herself fully think. The ghost of a smile flicked across the mouse’s face, and he nodded. 

“You’ve been unsafe for so long that it’s hard to believe otherwise, let alone that you’re welcome, or even wanted,” he said quietly, gray eyes distant. “Believe me, I know. But I can promise you that not a single creature here wishes you harm, and that every single one of them would die before allowing you to be enslaved again. We may be a peaceful order, but true peace can only be protected through strength. Those that forget our strength, that threaten our peace and our freedom do so at their peril. Do you understand?” 

Elmkirk swallowed hard. “I think so, sir. But that doesn’t explain why you were asking me about locks.” 

The mouse nodded approval of the question. “You will always find a warm welcome here, Elmkirk, and you will always be wanted. Every creature living within these walls contributes to Redwall, and you would be missed should you choose to leave. But the gates of Redwall will always be open for you--from _either_ side of the walls. The locks are on the inside, Elmkirk. Should you wish to leave, should you decide that your path splits from ours, not a creature here would stop you from walking out those gates. They would only offer supplies and a helping hand upon your way, and sincere wishes for you to return. Whether you decide to leave tomorrow morning or in ten seasons’ time.”

“You mean-- you mean I could go?” Elmkirk demanded. She hadn’t had a family to return to, after Malkariss. Not one she remembered. She hadn’t really decided to come here, either, it had simply been assumed she would, and she hadn’t contested it. “Just leave?”

“Yes,” the mouse agreed. “You could. You could go anywhere, do anything.”

Possibilities sparked in Elmkirk’s mind. She could go. Could wander further north along the path, or follow it south into different lands. Maybe see the sea, or the mountains--she’d heard of the mountains before, from another squirrel out of the north. Proper, rocky mountains, not like the high cliff she’d been dragged up by Slagar. She could travel along the rivers, or just live in the forest, among the trees. Mouth working silently, she looked again at the mouse, overwhelmed by gratitude for the sheer _possibility_ he’d just revealed to her. 

“You’re free, Elmkirk,” he said, another smile creeping over his face. “You’re _free_ , beholden to no beast. Not even us.” 

Elmkirk sat down hard on the grass, head spinning. “I’m free,” she whispered again, then giggled. “I’m free.” 

The mouse laughed as well. “Yes, you are. But I’d recommend at least staying here through the winter. Travelling alone through snow isn’t the most fun, trust me. And should you decide to wander come spring, you ought to know that however far you go, however long you are gone, Redwall Abbey will _always_ give you a warm welcome should you decide to return. You have a home, should you want it.” 

Still reeling, Elmkirk struggled to speak for several seconds. “Who _are_ you?” she finally demanded. “You’re not Matthias, but I don’t know who you are.” 

The mouse laughed, more loudly and freely than he had yet. “Now there’s a problem I never expected to run into,” he said when he’d regained control of himself. “Most of the time, he’s mistaken for me rather than the other way around. I think I’m flattered.” There was a twinkle in his gray eyes now as he watched the squirrelmaid. “My name’s Martin. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elmkirk.”

“Are you two brothers, then?” she persisted. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around the abbey.” 

“You could think of us as brothers, I suppose,” Martin said, still grinning. “Though I’m much older than young Matthias. We’ve been told we look quite similar.” Elmkirk scowled, sensing she was missing something but not able to put her paw on what. Before she could speak to ask another question, Martin stood and walked back down the steps to join her on the grass. “Unfortunately, it’s long past time you slept. If you can’t in the bed, I always had more luck pulling the blankets off and making a nest in the corner. And,” he added, as he started back towards the abbey with Elmkirk trailing behind him, “I would be shocked if some of the others weren’t having similar problems sleeping. You might not need the warmth anymore, but sleeping with other creatures can offer comfort, too, when you trust them to watch your back.” 

They paused beneath the window Elmkirk had climbed out of, and Martin nodded his head towards the wall. “You won’t have too much trouble getting up?”

“No,” Elmkirk muttered. “Besides, it’s either this or the door, and I don’t want Constance to catch me out.” 

“Oh, yes, badger mums can be quite strict when it comes to curfew,” Martin said with a wry smile. “Even when there’s a perfectly good reason to be out and about. Bella caught me sneaking back in one night and gave me a lecture blistering enough that it woke most of the abbey.” 

Elmkirk snickered as she started up the wall. “Well, sir, I won’t tell you were out of bed if you don’t tell on me,” she said. 

The mouse winked. “Deal,” he said, and raised one paw in farewell. “Oh, and Elmkirk?” The squirrelmaid paused, two-thirds up the wall. “If you ever need someone to listen, I’m always around.” 

“Thank you, Martin,” she said, a faint smile stealing over her face as well--the first in what felt like seasons. She was over the windowsill with a flick of her tail and back in the dim dormitory hall, full of beds and still figures. She closed the window quietly as she could and sat on the edge of her bed, thinking. 

“Hey,” she said at last in a loud whisper. No one flinched, but the absolute stillness gave the others away. She smiled again, broader this time, firmer. “Does anyone else want to sleep together?” 

There was a beat of silence, then another, before a small mouse turned over and poked his nose over the blanket. “If you promise not to let your tail tickle my nose,” he said.

“Promise.” 

There was a flurry of activity from the other beds, whispers and stifled giggles. 

When Sister May creaked the door open the next morning to check on the newest additions to Redwall, she found every one of the freed slaves in a tangle of tails and paws and blankets in the middle of the floor, snoring happily. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in a continuation, swear-like-a-hare on tumblr wrote what happens next under the title "You Can't Take The Sky From Me". 
> 
> https://swear-like-a-hare.tumblr.com/post/172314063862/you-cant-take-the-sky-from-me

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Question of Freedom (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163273) by [ScrivenerSavannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrivenerSavannah/pseuds/ScrivenerSavannah)
  * [You Can’t Take The Sky From Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578440) by [swear-like-a-hare (TheEyeofTheOncomingStorm)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEyeofTheOncomingStorm/pseuds/swear-like-a-hare)




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